Slow Down
by Firebird9
Summary: What on earth had possessed him, he wondered, to get into a car driven by Phryne Fisher?


**Slow Down**

**Author: **Firebird

**Rating: **T

...

"For God's sake, Phryne, slow down!" Jack Robinson clapped his hat more firmly to his head with one hand and gripped the side of the Hispano-Suiza with the other as his lover, laughing wildly, threw the vehicle around a corner.

"Oh, come on Jack, where's your sense of adventure?" she cried gaily.

"I think it fell out when we reached the open road!" he shouted back in order to be heard over the roar of the engine and the rasp of the stones beneath the wheels. What on earth had possessed him, he wondered, to get into a car driven by her? Not that he didn't already know: he loved Phryne Fisher with a mad passion that at times frightened him almost as much as the woman herself did. He would do almost anything for her and go almost anywhere with her – if only to try and prevent her from causing too much trouble when she got there.

And the idea had been so beguiling. The two of them, alone in the car, a leisurely drive to some scenic spot, a picnic and, knowing Phryne, a quick tumble in the grass before they drove back to the city.

Except that Phryne never did anything in a leisurely manner, a fact which he had completely forgotten to take into account before getting into her car. And this car was, if anything, even more powerful than the last one, which she had wrecked on a case several months before. Which meant that this ride was even more gut-wrenchingly terrifying than his previous experiences with her behind the wheel.

"What happens if we meet an oncoming vehicle? Or something going slower than us?" Which would, he thought, be almost anything else on the road.

"That's what the horn is for!" She tooted it merrily to demonstrate and threw them around another bend.

He took a deep breath. "Phryne. Pull over." This time he didn't shout but instead used the firm, no-nonsense tone that sometimes – occasionally – did the trick with her.

Phryne Fisher glanced at the man she loved. His jaw was set, his eyes wide and staring, and he was clinging to the side of the vehicle as though holding on for dear life. Evidently he was not enjoying himself in the slightest. Suddenly contrite, she pulled over.

"I'm sorry," she apologised sincerely, then dipped her head to look at him flirtatiously. "Am I forgiven?" Not that she had any doubt that she would be, now that she had done as he asked. He had not been playing when he asked her to stop, so it was time to bring that particular game to an end.

He took a deep breath, and slowly loosened his grip on the car and his hat.

"This is supposed to be a leisurely drive in the country," he reminded her in a much gentler tone. "We're in no hurry, we have no place to be, and no-one is pursuing us." He tilted his head on one side and frowned slightly at her. "Why are you always in such a rush?" he asked.

She sighed, and looked up to the sky as though it might hold an answer. She knew it was true: she never sat when she could stand, never walked when she could run, spoke at a rate that frequently left her listeners, including Jack, completely lost, and drove as though the Devil himself were in pursuit.

Jack, on the other hand, moved at a much slower pace unless and until he thought lives were in danger. He thought before he acted, reflected before he spoke, and when he did speak, especially to her, the words flowed with the unhurried luxury of honey dripping from a spoon.

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Well, at least that's an honest answer." He smiled, good humour largely restored now that he was no longer in fear for his life. She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes again, part artful flirtation, part genuine worry that he was still upset with her, and he leaned over and kissed her gently. "Just ease up on the accelerator," he suggested, in honey-slow tones.

This time she consciously slowed down, missing the wild rush of speed but aware, when she stopped to think about it, of an abundance of other sights and sounds. She could hear, over the softer purr of the engine, the birds and insects calling in the trees, and the leaves rustling in the breeze. She was free to look around and admire the scenery as they passed by. And she was much more conscious of Jack, riding beside her, progressively relaxing as he realised that she was now keeping to a much less deadly pace.

Of course, it took much longer to reach their destination, and she was already striding off down the path as Jack retrieved the picnic hamper and rug from the back of the car.

"Phryne!" He called out to her, more amused than annoyed. She turned and wandered slowly back to stand in front of him. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow in silent query.

"It's a wonderful spot, Jack, with the most amazing view of the waterfall. I can't wait for you to see it."

"The waterfall's hardly likely to disappear in the next five minutes," he commented, passing her the rug and offering her his free hand. The path looked too narrow to walk arm-in-arm, but hand-in-hand would do. She smiled the impish smile that always brought an answering curve to his own lips, and drew him down the trail.

"So, how often do you come up here?" he asked her, wondering – though he would never say so aloud – how many other men she had brought to this spot.

"Not very often," she replied. "Mac and I found it when we were out exploring a few months ago. It's too good a spot to waste on just anybody."

The look she threw him was decidedly sultry, and he felt his heart flip in response.

With a subtle tug-of-war over their pace, it took perhaps ten minutes to reach a grassy spot at the edge of a small gully. From a cliff some ten feet above, a small waterfall spilled down to a stream roughly the same distance below. The scenery really was wonderful, and the spot completely private and secluded. The pair cast a quick eye around for snakes and other nasties before spreading the rug, then Phryne flung herself down and held out her hand to him. He took it and sat more slowly, pausing to glance up and around appreciatively.

She watched him gaze around, and smiled proudly. "Stunning, isn't it?"

He nodded. "It really is."

She leaned into him and began to kiss him, loving the taste of his lips, the feeling of his mouth on hers. He kissed her back but, after a moment, she felt him draw away slightly, gently unwrapping her arms from around his neck.

"Slow down, Phryne," he urged gently. He pulled on her arms, turning her body and drawing her back to sit leaning against him. "Look at the waterfall, the sunlight, the trees. This is a beautiful spot."

She took a deep breath and relaxed against him. Men did not, in her experience, tell her to stop. They did not encourage her to turn away from admiring them to admire waterfalls and sunlight instead. Not when they wanted her as much as she knew Jack did at that moment.

"Why is everything always so slow with you?" she asked, with the faintest hint of annoyance.

He was silent for a moment, thinking. "Because you can't count on the good things to last," he told her eventually. "Because a moment like this, in a place like this, can never be retrieved once it's gone. Because words spoken in haste can never be taken back. Actions taken rashly can never be undone."

"But what if you get there too late?" she countered. "What if the moment passes? What if you never get a chance to say what you feel, let the chance to act slip away?"

It was about her sister, he knew. One way or another, it was almost always about her sister, just as, with him, it was almost always about the War. Each of them had their own private wounds, the pain which had helped mould them into the people they had become.

"If you could have one more moment with Janey," he asked softly, "wouldn't you want that moment to last forever?"

She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes at the thought of the little sister that she would never see again. "You know I would."

"When I was in the trenches, it seemed like whenever anything happened, it happened so quickly." He rarely spoke of his war experiences, but it seemed important to him at that moment to make her understand why he treasured the luxury of time. "Everything was so chaotic. Even when you were off duty, you could die at any moment. Sometimes, I'd look up and I'd see a bird, or a flower that had somehow escaped being trampled, and I'd think 'that could be the last flower I ever see.'" He paused. "Do you know McCrae's poem?"

"The one about Flanders Fields?"

He nodded. "That's the one. I think he must have felt the same way. 'In Flanders fields the poppies blow/Between the crosses, row on row,/That mark our place; and in the sky/The larks, still bravely singing, fly/Scarce heard amid the guns below.'"

"'We are the dead.'" Phryne continued. "'Short days ago/We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,/Loved, and were loved, and now we lie/In Flanders fields.'"

"We won the war," he remarked. "But if we keep living the way we had to then, in the middle of the conflict, then we haven't really won anything." He looked around, drinking in the peace that surrounded them. "So many men never came home; never had the chance to experience another moment like this. The sun on their faces, the birds in the trees," he paused, and looked at her. "A beautiful woman in their arms." He kissed her tenderly. "I want to experience these moments, Phryne, not just rush through them as though I'm hoping for something better ahead. I'm not sure there could be anything better than this."

His voice was honey-slow again, and she breathed deeply, trying to do as he was doing, trying to experience the present moment. Her past contained so many terrors, so many things worth running from, that she had been running for years. It had been a long time since she'd stopped for long enough to wonder whether there was still any reason to run.

His face was inches from hers, his eyes almost drunk with desire, but she suddenly understood why he was holding back. Slowly, she leaned into him and kissed him, not trying to rush him forward into the next moment of passion, but simply to be with him in this one.

He kissed her slowly, laid her down slowly, and everything – everything – was slow and sweet and tender.


End file.
